Beneath the Werewolf's Moon

The fog crept through then arrow streets of Victorian London like a living thing, shrouding the gas lamps in a ghostly embrace. In this dimly lit world, Inspector Jameson made his way to the scene of the latest crime, his footsteps echoing off the cobblestones. The chill in the air seeped into his bones, mirroring the cold dread that had settled in his stomach.

Jameson was no stranger to death, but this case was different. The victim, a young woman named Emily Carter, had been found in an alley behind the opera house, her body mutilated in a way that defied explanation. The local constables had reported findings that were more fitting for a werewolf attack than anything human.

As he approached the crime scene, Jameson couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He glanced over his shoulder, but the fog obscured any potential observers. Shaking off the unease, he focused on the task at hand.

The alley was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a single flickering gas lamp. The smell of rot and something else, something metallic, hung heavy in the air. Jameson's eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he spotted the body lying in a pool of congealed blood.

He kneeled beside the victim, taking in the horrific scene. The wounds were savage, jagged tears in the flesh that seemed too large to be caused by any known weapon. It was as if... no, it couldn't be. Werewolves were the stuff of legends, myths to scare children. Yet, the evidence before him suggested otherwise.

"Inspector, we've been expecting you," a voice called from the shadows. It was Sergeant Jenkins, his trusted colleague. Jenkins handed him a lantern, its warm glow casting dancing shadows on the walls.

"Any signs of forced entry?" Jameson asked, his voice steady despite the macabre spectacle.

"None, sir. It's as if she just... appeared here," Jenkins replied, his tone laced with unease.

Jameson nodded, making a mental note. This wasn't the first time he'd encountered such perplexing circumstances. Over the past few months, there had been a string of similar murders, each more brutal than the last. The press had taken to calling it the "Werewolf Murders," much to the chagrin of the police department.

But Jameson couldn't dismiss the similarities. The victims were all young, all found in isolated areas, and all bearing wounds that seemed impossible. He had to find the truth, no matter how fantastical it might seem.

As he examined the body, he noticed something peculiar—a small, silver pendant around the victim's neck. It depicted a wolf's head, its eyes glowing faintly in the lantern light. He pocketed it, deciding to have it analyzed back at the station.

Just then, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the alley. Jameson stood up, lantern in hand, ready to face whoever was coming.

"It's about time you got here," a familiar voice drawled. It was Lord Harrington, a pompous aristocrat with a penchant for meddling in police affairs.

"Lord Harrington," Jameson acknowledged curtly. "What brings you to this sordid affair?"

Harrington sneered. "I received a tip about this... incident. I thought I'd pay my respects to the poor girl and, of course, offer my assistance to the esteemed inspector."

Jameson raised an eyebrow. "Assistance? From you?"

"Indeed. You see, I have a particular interest in these so-called 'werewolf' attacks. It's high time someone put an end to this nonsense."

Jameson's grip on the lantern tightened. He didn't trust Harrington as far as he could throw him. The man had a reputation for being involved in shady dealings, and his sudden interest in the case raised more questions than answers.

"Well, Lord Harrington, I appreciate your concern. Perhaps you can enlighten me on the nature of your interest in this matter."

Harrington's smile faltered slightly before he regained his composure. "Merely a desire to see justice served, Inspector. These murders are causing unrest in the city, and it's my duty as a member of the aristocracy to ensure order is maintained."

Jameson nodded, not entirely convinced. "Very well. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

With that, Jameson turned back to the body, determined to find clues that would lead him to the truth. He knew that solving this case would not be easy; it would require him to delve into the darkest corners of London society and confront secrets best left buried.

As he worked, the fog continued to swirl around him, a constant reminder of the mysteries that lay hidden in the shadows. And somewhere out there, the killer was watching, waiting for the next full moon to rise.

End of Chapter 1